Hey Layla
by Roxy Rosee
Summary: When Daryl & Co. head to Woodbury to rescue Andrea, she's not the only captive they find. Daryl is startled by his strong urge to protect this damaged woman. Maybe it was her eyes that kept drawing him in. Maybe her voice. All Daryl knew was, he wasn't letting her disappear on him.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay guys, so this story has been rolling around in my frontal lobe for a while now, and I've played with it on and off for months. Finally decided to post it, but I'm not sure what the next step is, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave LOTS of REVIEWS! As always thanks and love y'all x**_

**Chapter One**

"I tried to stop them," Andrea coughed brokenly. Her normally pale skin had blanched even further with the loss of blood. "Judith, Carl, the rest of them?"

"Us. The rest of us," Rick corrected.

"Are they alive?" she questioned desperately.

"Yeah, they're alive " he confirmed.

Andrea turned to Michonne. "It's good you found them. No one can make it alone now." She shot a meaningful look towards Daryl and he nodded his understanding.

"I never could," he admitted.

"I just didn't want anyone to die," Andrea said sadly. She reached for Rick's gun. "I can do it myself."

"No!" Michonne immediately disagreed, but Andrea held up a weak hand to halt her protests.

"I have to. While I still can. Please? I know how the safety works." Andrea gave a halfhearted smile towards Rick, acknowledging the argument they'd had upon their first meeting in Atlanta. Begrudgingly, Rick handed over the gun.

Andrea's body straightened suddenly and she jerked her eyes between Michonne, Rick, and Daryl. "There's a girl," she said hoarsely, "the Governor was holding her here. Somewhere close by- I could hear her screaming. She's strong, stronger than I am. She might still be alive."

"We'll find her," Rick promised.

Michonne gazed beseechingly at her dying friend, "Well, I'm not going anywhere."

Andrea understood her need to be here. It was a way of punishing herself, but also a gift. "I tried," Andrea ground out softly.

"You did," Rick acknowledged, turning with Daryl to leave the room, "You did."

Rick and Daryl stood silently in the hallway outside Andrea's torture chamber, before a single shot echoed off the concrete walls. Tyreese flinched at the noise, and Rick's features betrayed his guilt. But Daryl only sat, mournfully, solemn. When Michonne walked out of the room with a look of anguish, Daryl hopped up from his perch and continued down the winding paths of the Governor's private penitentiary. He had a girl to find.

He kicked open the first door he spotted to find a room filled with bloody tools. Saws, switchblades, and screwdrivers, all lined up on linoleum tables, coated with blood. Daryl quickly closed the door and continued on. The next set of double doors revealed an armory. But rather than guns and ammo, the room contained the exact paraphernalia necessary to construct a multitude of high intensity bombs. C-4, copper wire, deconstructed timers- as if the Governor had been planning on sending suicide bombers into the fray. They'd come back for this later.

The third door was the ticket, as it always seemed to be. He cracked off the locked knob with the heel of his boot, and ventured inside to find a young woman huddled in the corner. Her hands and feet were bound, and duct tape covered her mouth. A handkerchief had been wrapped expertly around her head, cutting off her vision as well. Her shirt and jeans were soaked through with blood. It was clear enough she'd heard Daryl's unceremonious entry when she scuttled as far back against the wall as she could manage. Her cries were muffled against the tape gagging her, but the effect was the same.

Daryl approached her hurriedly and untied her blindfold first. Green eyes greeted him, with specs of gold. She was trembling and tearing up, trying desperately to rip through the ropes binding her. "Ain't gonna hurt ya," Daryl tried to assure her, but it was useless. Her eyes darted between him, Michonne, Tyreese and Rick, quickly calculating how many fists would be connecting with her battle-worn body before she'd finally pass out from the pain. The look in her eyes told Daryl everything he needed to know. He'd seen it before- in the mirror.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and instructed, "Give her some space." The trio nodded their understanding and retreated to the hallway.

The girl's eyes remained unfocused and frightened, prepared for a fight, anticipating pain. He reached towards her face and the girl tried her best to jerk her head away from him, inadvertently slamming her temple into the wall. Her chestnut hair cascaded around her clavicle when she moved, dancing across her skin. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Daryl said as softly as he could, "Just gonna take off the tape. Ain't gonna hurt ya, girl, I swear."

And for the first time since he'd entered her prison cell, the girl looked at him. She really and truly looked. Momentarily, she became lost in his cool blue pools. Daryl watched in some degree of surprise as her features softened, and breathing slowed. She trusted him; or at the very least, she was trying to.

As gently and slowly as he could, Daryl reached out again and peeled back the duct tape at her mouth. Pouty, pink lips revealed themselves to him, and briefly, Daryl allowed himself to think about what they'd feel like pressed against his own. But he quickly shut out the thought; he was a pervert for even entertaining the idea, and now wasn't the time. Next would be the ropes, but that posed a problem: to get the ropes undone he'd need to cut them, and to cut them he'd need to take out his knife. Chances were, she'd panic. So he tried another tactic.

"I'm Daryl," he said quietly, "What's your name?"

"Layla," the girl replied, after a beat. And goddamn if hearing her voice didn't disprove everything Daryl had ever believed about the value of poetry. Because the girl's voice sounded like bells ringing. It sounded like angels singing and sunshine on skin and peach juice running down your cheek. He caught himself before the smile on his lips could make its way out of his body. This girl was beat to all hell and there wasn't one good reason he should be smiling at her now, lest he wanted to scare her even more. But there was just something about her voice...he forced himself to concentrate on her eyes instead.

"Layla, I ain't gonna hurt ya," he drawled. God her name felt good on his lips. Layla.

"Why?" she asked, before he could finish his statement. Her question unsettled him. A couple decades before, if anyone had tried to help him or be nice to him while he'd been trapped under his father's abusive thumb, he might have asked the same thing.

"I ain't like that. My friends ain't neither. We ain't with the Governor, and he ain't here no more. No one's gonna hurt you, I promise," Daryl tried to explain.

"You're not with the Governor," Layla said slowly, processing the words. "Then who are you with?"

"The Governor had one of ours, he was holding her here…" Daryl began.

"Andrea?" Layla's watery emerald orbs had focused on him with the precision of an archer hitting his mark.

"Yeah…"

"She's dead."

It wasn't a question. Layla could see it clearly enough from his defeated expression. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding his gaze. Maybe this man wasn't here to hurt her. Maybe he was telling the truth.

He sighed, "She told us about ya, said we should come find ya, that ya might still be alive. Guess she was right."

"So …are you going to let me go?" Layla asked quietly, almost hopefully. But she couldn't let herself want that. Letting that emotion run free in her veins could be her demise.

"'Course we are," Daryl assured her, "But you're hurt. We got this prison, a little ways from here. It's got fences, walls…women and children. Good people. The other Woodbury folk wanna come back with us. You should too."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'm fine on my own," she spat. She was closing off; he had to convince her before he lost her entirely.

"Nah, you ain't. No one is these days. And with this much blood comin' off ya, you won't survive the night out there. C'mon Layla, just give it a shot. Give yourself a few days to get patched up, and if ya still don't like it you can leave. It might be a prison, but you ain't our prisoner. I don't wanna see ya make it out of this room just to get yourself killed straight off," Daryl said sincerely.

"What do you care if I die?" Layla asked him. She could see he was telling the truth. _Feel _it, moreover. But she didn't understand this man.

"Just do," he shrugged. There was more there, but she left it, for the time being. Daryl reached to his side and began to take out his hunting knife. The girl immediately stiffened, but he surprised himself by placing a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

"Gotta cut the ropes, okay? Just trust me," he begged her. And when she relaxed slightly against the wall, he reached around her to cut away her blood-damp woven shackles. He worked quickly, but he was close to her just long enough for her to feel his hot breath against her neck. Daryl tried not to take any pleasure from being this near to her. She shivered as he pulled away, rubbing her raw wrists idly. Daryl cut her feet free next and helped the girl to stand

"Daryl," Layla called softly, pausing before she followed him out of the room, "Don't leave me alone with them." Her voice was pleading, eyes afraid. But she wasn't afraid of _him_, and that was enough for now.

"You'll stick with me," he declared, just as much for his own sake as for hers. And with this assurance, she followed him out to meet his group.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

"I'm _fine,_" Layla growled from her seat next to Daryl inside the prison's walls. But lord have mercy; even when she was angry, her voice sounded like a purring kitten. Daryl wanted Hershel to take care of Layla's wounds. Layla had other plans. "Just get me some gauze. I can take care of it myself."

He rolled his eyes at her. "We both know you can't." She glowered at him, but remained silent. "I'll stay with ya, if it'll help."

Almost imperceptibly, Layla nodded. At least if he was there, she could maybe, just for a moment, relax. Acquiescing, she allowed him to lead her over to Hershel's cell.

"Alright, Daryl. If you'd just step out-"

"He's staying," Layla said firmly. No room for argument. The peg-legged veterinarian eyed her curiously, but let it slide.

"Okay, if you don't mind, let's start with you taking off your clothing so I can get a better view of the injuries," Hershel asked her kindly.

"I can't," Layla croaked. When Hershel looked like he was about to put up an argument she interjected, "The shirt is burnt on in a few places. Can't get it off without ripping skin."

"It sounds like we'll have to cut it then. Is that alright with you?"

Layla nodded and Hershel set out to work, cutting carefully around the red, blistering patches on her back. The Governor had preferred her face down. One wide, blank canvass for him to mar.

"I'm going to need to reopen some of these wounds. They'll never heal properly with the fabric stuck in them. I could give you some anesthetic…"

"No. I don't need it. Just do it," Layla insisted. She lay on her front, her entire back exposed to the two men in the room. It was oddly reminiscent of her time with the Governor, and the thought of him made her tense. Daryl noticed her nervousness and went to kneel by her side.

She winced every now and again as Hershel carefully cut into her skin. And Daryl couldn't help but let the anger boil within him at the sight of what the Governor had done to this beautiful girl. When he looked back to her face he caught her watching him.

"He hurt you anywhere else?" Daryl asked pointedly.

"Just a whole bunch of bruises," Layla sighed.

That hadn't been quite what Daryl meant, and the girl knew it. But Daryl had to be sure. Because if the Governor had done _that_. Well…he'd kill him. He'd rip that asshole to shreds then burn the pieces.

"He didn't…"

"_No_," Layla cut him off. "He didn't rape me." Daryl continued to eye her skeptically. "Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me?" she asked, exasperated.

"He's a sick fuck," Daryl said in response. It was true enough.

After a moment, Layla spat out. "Fine, you want to know the truth? First day he put me in there one of his lackeys came in and tried to put his dick in my mouth. I bit it off. After that, the Governor didn't seem too keen on having his dick anywhere near me. So no, he didn't rape me, Daryl."

Daryl nodded silently. He certainly believed her. "How long were ya there?"

She scrunched her brow, trying to remember, but eventually seemed to give up. "A couple of weeks, maybe? It was hard to keep track. No light, after all."

"Why'd he stick you in there?"

"What, you think I did something wrong? You think I deserved it?" Layla angrily questioned.

"No!" Daryl backtracked, "But he had to have a reason. Ain't sayin' it was a good one. Or that what he did wasn't fucked up. But whatever reason he had for stickin' you in there, I'm guessin' you know it."

She sighed. "It's a long story, Daryl."

"Don't look like you're goin' nowhere."

"I'd actually like to hear this too," Rick said from the doorway, startling the girl. Every muscle in her body twitched away from the noise, and Daryl thoughtlessly put his hand over hers, trying to settle her. He looked down at the appendage like it didn't belong to him, surprised that she hadn't jerked away from his touch. Layla gave him a small smile, but he retracted his hand anyways.

"I'm Rick Grimes, by the way," the officer told her, pulling up a chair next to the bunk. A safe distance away, though. He didn't know this girl.

"Layla," the girl said through a hiss. Hershel wasn't exactly being gentle with that scalpel. She looked between Daryl and Rick's faces, then let out a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"I used to be in a bigger group," she began. "But a few weeks ago we got separated by a herd. It was just me and Bonnie. She was this adorable five-year-old with curly blonde pigtails and big blue eyes. And I protected her, you know? For a little while. Then another herd blew through and I thought we were done for. But this big, burly guy with a knife for an arm came charging out of the woods and saved us. So we went with him."

Daryl and Rick shared a look. "This guy got a name?"

"Merle," she all but whispered. "He brought me back to Woodbury. It's not his fault though, he thought he was protecting me. He didn't know what the Governor would do."

Daryl didn't say anything, just waited.

"They had this scientist there, Milton, who believed that when people turn into biters, that some part of them is still there. The human part. And he and the Governor thought up a way to prove it. Bonnie got...bit when the herd attacked us. She was going to turn, I knew it, I mean she was already burning up when we got there. And I begged them to kill her. So much pain…and she was just a little girl. But they had to do their _experiment_." Layla was crying now, though she didn't' realize it. And Daryl had unconsciously shifted closer to her, the back of his arm grazing her shoulder.

"They locked us in separate rooms. I couldn't even be there for her, when she…and then after it happened, they threw her body in and I just had to wait. Wait for her to come back. And she did, after a while. They wanted to see if she'd recognize me, I guess. But she didn't, the dead don't do that. She came after me, but I couldn't kill her. The Governor did- he shot her down right in front of me. And after that, they couldn't let me go. I mean god forbid I tell all those dumbasses from Woodbury what the man was really like. So he just kept me as his plaything. Until you all showed up, that is." Layla closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get a handle on this. She was surprised by the wetness on her cheeks; she hadn't had it in her to cry since she'd first seen Bonnie's lifeless body.

"M'sorry," Daryl murmured.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Rick echoed, as he got up to leave. "I can promise you that if we ever do find the Governor, we'll kill him. I'll let you finish up here."

Hershel stepped away from her bandaged torso and brushed his hands off. "You'll have to sleep on your stomach for the next week or so, I imagine. But the burns will heal in good time. You let me know if you want any painkillers."

"I'll be okay," Layla mumbled into the bed, "Thanks."

Daryl pulled one of his sleeveless flannels out of his back pocket. "Grabbed this on the way in. Figured ya wouldn't wanna put the old one back on."

Layla smiled gratefully and tried to swing her legs around to sit up, but she found herself too weak. Daryl was immediately at her side, hoisting her as carefully as he could until she was sitting up on the bed, and trying desperately not to look at her body in the process. He stared down at her lap until he was sure she had put the flannel on.

"Merle was my brother," Daryl finally said, with great difficulty.

Layla hesitated a moment. "Was?"

"He died last week. Tried to take on the Governor by himself."

Layla reached out tentatively and placed her hand over Daryl's, surprising both of them. But by some power of God, he was able to catch himself before he flinched away. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. And if Daryl was being honest with himself, it felt like the first time anyone had meant the words. Rick had told him he was sorry for his loss, that he wished they could have saved him. Everyone at the prison had sent their condolences, at some point. Even Carol, when she said the words, didn't seem to believe them. But Layla meant it.

Daryl took the hand on his face into his own, examining it, almost. Her hand was so small and soft compared to his rough mitts.

"It's getting dark," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Where am I sleeping?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Nope, not happening," she said in a singsong voice, looking into Daryl's cell.

"C'mon it ain't that bad," he scoffed.

She rolled her eyes at him. "It's a jail cell."

"Well don't close it, it'll be fine."

"Daryl, I've been in captivity for weeks. Please don't ask me to get into another cage. Can't I just sleep outside?"

"It's freezin' out!"

"So I'll borrow a jacket or something. I just have to be able to see the sky…so I don't forget I'm safe, now. Please?"

Daryl sighed and massaged his temples with a single hand. "Just for tonight," he said gruffly.

"Okay!" Layla nodded eagerly, and he couldn't help but grin at how excited she seemed at the prospect.

"And y'ain't stayin' out there alone," he barked.

"Because you don't trust me."

"Because it ain't safe."

"I thought you said there were gates."

"Yeah—"

"And guards on watch for walkers, and...people."

"Yeah, but—"

"Then outside is as safe as in, and if I have the choice in the matter then I'd choose outside any day."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair in frustration, curtailing it for the time being. "We don't know if he's gonna come back, Layla."

She crossed her arms and stared hard at the ground, muscles going tight under her skin. "You said he was gone."

"He is. But as far as we know, he ain't dead. Could show up again someday. Wouldn't be wise, but he could."

Daryl watched as Layla's body relaxed, slightly, but her resolve never wavered. "I still need to sleep outside."

"Like I said, just this once. But ya still can't be out there alone."

"So who is going to be my...escort?"

"I...me, I guess. Unless ya want someone else."

"You want to do that?"

"S'fine."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "So you're going to sleep under the stars with me, Daryl?"

"Shut up," Daryl muttered. But he couldn't help but wonder if she was really, genuinely, flirting with him. With _him?_ Nah.

It was already dark when they ventured outside. Dinner had been tense and disorganized- so many new faces. So many people- the whole thing made Daryl nervous. Layla had stuck closely to his side the entire time, watching the group from the sidelines just like he often did. Sleeping outdoors wasn't looking like such a bad plan, after all. He grabbed two sleeping bags and pillows and led Layla out around the side of the prison. Walkers rarely made their way around to this side.

It was quiet, albeit cold, and an intensely starry night. "Perfect," Layla said to herself, settling down on one of the sleeping bags. "Thank you for this."

Daryl shrugged, "S'nothin'." But he stowed away the compliment somewhere, smirking to himself.

"So where you from?" he asked her, sitting on his own sleeping bag.

"Boston. Not born and bred or anything- I don't have one of those silly accents. But that's where I spent most of my adult life. Grew up in New York though."

"Ain't never been," Daryl admitted.

"You grew up in Georgia?" she asked.

He snorted, "It's that obvious?"

She smiled back at him, "Well the accent clued me in. And the way you handle yourself. Real live Southern boy."

"Hey, I ain't no boy," he corrected.

"Ah, yes. Man. I forgot," she responded playfully. He was so startled by the light-heartedness of her tone that he couldn't muster up an appropriate response.

Instead, Daryl laid back and let silence fall over them as they gazed up at the sky. After several minutes, he chanced a look towards Layla and found her visibly shaking, running her hands up and down her unclothed legs.

"Damnit Layla, I told ya you'd be cold," he huffed.

"I'm not," she insisted, wrapping her arms around herself. He stared at her a moment, trying to assess just how stubborn she was.

Daryl unzipped his sleeping bag and rolled inside, leaving his boots on the ground. He held it open and nodded at her, "C'mere."

"Seriously?"

"Damn right seriously. And this is a onetime offer, woman. You're already hurt, gettin' sick on top of it won't do ya no good. Ya gotta warm up. So it's this or we go inside," Daryl said sternly.

Sighing overdramatically, Layla scooted over and allowed Daryl to zip them both into the exceptionally small sleeping bag. They tried to lie next to each other, but there just wasn't enough space. So after several moments of awkwardness, Daryl took her firmly by the waist and pulled her on top of his chest.

"This okay?" he whispered, as she lay her head down on his shoulder. He was scared now, truly and completely scared. Daryl hadn't put much thought into insisting they share this small space. He'd seen her in need and he'd reacted. There was something about this girl, he wasn't truly sure what, but from the moment he'd spotted those emerald eyes he'd instinctually wanted to protect her.

But now their bodies were pressed up against each other and he could smell the fruitiness of her hair and he was just praying that his body didn't react the way he knew it would to her closeness. Because, it was undeniable- She felt _good_ against him. And even letting himself acknowledge that small fact was a betrayal. He was supposed to be helping her, playing watchdog so she had time to heal. The girl had been fucking tortured for Christ's sake. And yet here he was hoping to God he didn't pop a hard-on just from the feel of her warm breath on his chest.

"Mmhmm," she murmured. She was melting into him. And Daryl felt pride at the sensation of her body relaxing- and doing it because _he_ was there. He propped up their pillows behind his head, so he could watch her while they lay there.

Daryl wasn't exactly a virgin- but this? This was way out of his comfort zone. Drunk fucks and hookups didn't prepare you to be this close to someone. This was…intimate. And to some degree, he hated himself for enjoying it. Not just because of what the Governor had done to Layla, but because it would mean that he, himself, had been missing out on something his whole life. Or more truthfully- avoiding it purposefully. Hell, Merle had always told him this kind of thing was for pussies. And he'd figured it out himself: when you've got nothing you care about losing, it's harder to get hurt. So laying with Layla like this didn't come naturally to him, and he was sure she knew. I mean, his heart was thudding against his chest like the baseline of a metal song; she _had _to know.

"You're not too comfortable with this, are you?" she suddenly asked. And that confirmed it. She could definitely feel his heart hammering away like a coked out mockingbird.

"Just…never done it before," he muttered, barely audible. It only deepened his confusion and discomfort when Layla seemed to relax even further at his response.

She gave him a smirking, dubious look. "Done _other_ stuff," he said defensively. He'd touched a woman, for god's sake.

"Well _that_ I didn't doubt," she laughed. With the biceps on that man, and his severely blue eyes, there's not a chance he could have avoided getting laid this far into life. "I guess I can't be too surprised you're not a cuddler. I can move, if you want?"

"Dunno," Daryl shrugged, "It ain't awful."

Layla smiled at that, more relieved that she'd willingly admit. Here, with Daryl, was the safest she'd felt in months. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Ya want me to stop?"

"No…"

"Then don't ask so many questions," he grunted. If he had to admit to her all the fucked up things that had been going through his head since he'd found her this morning…well, she'd definitely make a run for it. She'd leave the prison, and never come back. And he couldn't have that. She yawned against his shirt and he bit down a smile. "When's the last time ya got a decent night's sleep?"

"Probably before dead people started walking around," she sighed, her voice now lower than a murmur. "Definitely not since the Governor took me. Never felt safe enough to close my eyes…" she trailed off.

"Well, you're safe now. Get some shut eye," Daryl instructed softly.

"You don't want me to move?" Her voice was high and hopeful, like a child's.

"Nah," he said quietly, "You're fine. Just sleep." He didn't need to ask her twice. In minutes her breathing was slow and deep, her body melded with his. And Daryl surprised himself when he managed to shut off his brain and fall into a deep slumber right along with her.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl woke up slowly. He was warm and comfortable, with sunlight streaming down on his face and the moans of the undead only a distant wail. It felt too good, and suddenly he snapped his eyes open and remembered exactly where he was. _Layla_. He couldn't tell if she was still asleep, but he prayed she was, because there was a certain situation he needed to take care of before she regained consciousness. _Fucking morning wood. _Well, if he was being honest with himself, his current predicament wasn't just a result of it being morning.

He tried his best to shift away from her, but she'd wrapped herself around him in her sleep. Their legs were intertwined and one of her hands was snaked up around his neck. His arms were trapped between her and the thick fabric of the sleeping bag, but he thought if he could inch one up and out, he might be able to free them from their cocoon. He accidently jerked his arm roughly, jostling the both of them, and Layla shifted her weight on top of him.

"It's okay," she whispered breathily, "I'm not mad, and you've got nothing to be embarrassed about." Well, there goes his whole fucking plan. She was awake. And she _definitely_ noticed.

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to think about dead people and grandmas and genocide, anything to get his mind off of her warm body on top of him.

"Don't be," she murmured. "I'm flattered, really. After the Governor did what he did…he kept telling me no one would ever want me after he was done with me. That's why he burned me."

She wasn't looking at him, didn't want him to see how much she believed the Governor's words. He touched her cheek to draw her attention.

"That's bullshit," he assured her, and added with reddened cheeks. "And it's obvious enough he was wrong." He shifted underneath her once more, proving his point when his erection throbbed against her thigh. But to his surprise, she smiled up at him.

"I guess he was," she agreed.

He groaned lowly, "Suppose it's time we went inside."

"You're probably right," she sighed, unzipping the sleeping bag and rolling onto the grass. Daryl sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, watching her collect their things. When she was done she looked back at him in confusion. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"Yeah…just gimme a minute," he mumbled. Watching her bend down and stretch the toned muscles of her arms and legs hadn't help to rid him of his embarrassing situation.

She smiled at him and crouched at his side. Leaning in slowly, she pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to his right cheek. Her fingers trailed lightly across his jaw as she pulled away to look him in the eye, making him shudder. Daryl was biting his lip hard, and pinkness had spread up to his ears. "Shit, Layla, y'ain't helpin' things," he mumbled. And at that, she couldn't suppress her laughter.

"Oh man," she chuckled, "I think that's the first time I've laughed in weeks." After a moment, Daryl managed to compose himself and they joined the rest of the prison gang for breakfast.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Layla hovered nervously just outside the doorway while Daryl talked with Rick and Hershel about what they needed to go out and find, with all these new people to take care of.

"We're going to need to clear out D," Rick was explaining, "But beyond that we need to get this organized. Supporting this many people, we'll have to have groups doing runs at least twice a week. We can set up a job Rota. Taking watch, going on runs, cooking and doing laundry- everyone will take turns."

"What kinda stuff are we gonna to need straight away?" Daryl asked.

"Medical supplies. Ammo. And all the dry goods we can find. I know you want to go out and hunt, but it'll have to wait a couple of days. For now it's just bare necessities and stocking up. I don't want you straying too far from the prison alone until we know the Governor isn't going to show up," Rick said.

"We can't know that," Hershel disagreed. "But he's a needle in a haystack. We need to focus on building up our defenses, keeping these people safe. If he comes, he comes. But we're not mind-readers."

"Alright, I'll go on a run first thing. Maybe try that strip mall we passed on the way to Woodbury," Daryl announced.

"Who are you bringing?" Rick asked him.

"I'll see if Michonne is up for it," Daryl said pensively, "And Layla."

Hershel and Rick shared a dubious look. "Daryl, she's still healing…" Hershel began, but Daryl cut him off.

"She ain't gonna be willin' to stay here alone-"

"She wouldn't exactly be alone," Rick interjected.

"You know what I mean, Rick," Daryl said in exasperation. "It's been a day. She doesn't trust y'all just yet. But I trust _her_."

"Why?"

Daryl looked their leader square in the eye. "Merle."

Rick's body tensed up, and Daryl could tell he was heavily weighing how he should respond. He decided to curtail another insincere apology. "And anyways, I could use an extra set of eyes."

"Alright, alright," Rick acquiesced, "But be careful out there. And make sure she can handle a weapon before you put one in her hand."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Please leave reviews! I'm super unsure of where I'm going with this story, though I love Layla and how Daryl/Layla jive together, so any input will help :)_**

**Chapter Three **

"What's your poison?" Daryl asked, laying out the available artillery in front of her. Her eyes danced over the steel weaponry until landing on a machete. She picked it up in one hand, testing the weight, before tucking it into her waistband.

"No gun?" he asked her, as they got into the car with Michonne.

"I prefer to avoid them," she admitted.

"Can ya shoot?"

"Yes, I just prefer not to," she shrugged. He wanted to prod further but her succinct responses told him she wasn't in a sharing mood.

"Think we should hit up that big ass camping store, first," Daryl said as they arrived at the strip mall.

"I'll try the pharmacy on the end," Michonne told them.

"Okay. I'm going to try the Target, though. They'll be plenty of food and I could _really _use some clothing of my own," Layla explained.

"Nuh-uh," Daryl quickly quipped. "Not by yourself, y'ain't."

"Oh really?" Layla asked, placing one hand on her cocked out hip. "And why's that, Mr. Dixon?"

"'Cuz I said so!" Daryl hissed childishly. Why'd this damn woman have to be so stubborn?

"Daryl, you do realize that I'm 25 years old right? By my count, that means I survived 24 years, 51 weeks, and six days without you. Pretty sure I can get through the next hour as well."

Michonne snorted to her left, not even trying to hide her smile, and Daryl's expression went from defiant to sulky. He looked between the women, unhappy with their sudden camaraderie if it meant Layla was going to put herself in danger.

"Layla, you're hurt," he said softly. And despite her agitation with him coddling her, Layla and Michonne could both see the concern in his eyes.

"Why don't we clear the Target together?" Michonne suggested, with Layla and Daryl quickly agreeing. Daryl banged hard on the thick glass at the front of the store, the echo surely resonating far back beyond the numerous aisles. After several tense minutes, a good half dozen walkers pressed themselves up against the glass, moaning and growling loudly.

Michonne mouthed "_One, two, three!"_ then threw the doors open, and between the three of them, the walkers were speedily chopped into pieces, scattered across the pavement.

"Let's go shopping," Michonne said with a grin, pulling Layla towards the _Women's Clothing_ aisle.

"There could be more of 'em!" Daryl tried to protest, but the women just gave him an exasperated look.

"You going to try on bras with us, redneck?" Michonne teased.

His cheeks reddened and shoulders tensed briefly, but then he spat back, "Nah, but I'll keep watch." The glint in his eye betrayed his double entendre.

"In your dreams!" Michonne laughed, as they continued away from him.

"We'll be careful!" Layla called behind her.

As they lazily paged through blouses and jeans, Michonne said casually, "So, I heard about what happened with you and the Governor."

Layla gave her a wary look. "Rick?" Michonne nodded.

"I didn't really want it to be public knowledge," Layla sighed.

"It isn't," Michonne reassured her, "But Daryl mentioned you knew Andrea, so I started asking a few too many questions and cracked him."

"Seems like an ex-Sherriff should be a little bit better at handling an interrogation," Layla grumbled. "You knew Andrea too then?"

"Yeah, her and I spent the winter together, before we ended up at Woodbury. We saved each other, in a lot of ways."

"She was a strong girl," Layla said solemnly.

"Not strong enough," Michonne murmured, "How did you know her?"

"Well, to be honest, we never actually met. When Merle brought me to Woodbury I ended up a prisoner pretty much straight away. I don't even know what Andrea looked like."

"They why did you tell Daryl you knew her?"

"Well, I did. I just never saw her face to face." Michonne continued to give her an expectant, somewhat confused look. "We talked through the walls," Layla clarified, "For those couple of days that the Governor held her there. Late at night when the guards tended to pass out anyways."

"What did you talk about?"

Layla shrugged, "The Governor mostly. How much she regretted trusting him, how guilty she felt for sleeping with him and all that. She told me about her sister, and this old man she met right after the apocalypse went down who treated her like a daughter. She told me about you." Layla gave her a pointed look when Michonne's eyes darted up to hers, attentive. "I didn't realize the connection when I met you, but it's obvious enough now. The samurai with the katana who saved her life- that's easy enough to spot. She cared about you a lot. Told me she wished she'd listened to you when she had the chance."

Michonne gave her a heartfelt look. "Thank you," she said softly.

"It's the truth," Layla simply replied. They continued to wander down the aisle, picking out boots and socks intermittently to add to their cart.

Eventually, Michonne awkwardly let out, "So, Daryl…"

Layla grinned, "What about him?"

Michonne cocked an eyebrow at her. "Something going on there?"

"Depends what you mean by something," Layla replied vaguely, knowing how much it would annoy her new friend.

Michonne stopped in her tracks and gave Layla a disbelieving look, to which the other woman immediately caved.

"There really isn't much to tell. Nothing's happened, but, I don't know, when he looks at me... I trust him. And I don't trust people easily, especially not after _that_. But it was...a lot easier than it should have been, trusting that man. It's the reason I'm here with you now rather than camping out by myself in the woods. I'm not sure what else there is to say."

"You care about him," Michonne declared with a smile in her voice.

"Maybe I do," Layla agreed, "I probably wouldn't have stuck around if he hadn't asked me to. But I'm not sure that means there's something 'going on' with us. Not the way you meant it. Though I might have, kind of, slept on top of him last night."

Michonne smiled at her, "He cares about you too- acting overprotective, possessive almost. He's not like that with anyone else in his group."

Layla wanted to believe her fascination with him wasn't one sided, but wasn't totally convinced. "Maybe it's just the Merle thing…"

"No, whatever flipped in him happened before that. He let you get close to him. Physically, I mean. And Daryl doesn't do that. Not even with Rick and everyone else at the prison, and he's known them for a while now," Michonne persisted. And finally, Layla allowed herself to wallow in the warmth of accepting this.

They met Daryl back out at the truck, looking sullen as he leaned against the vehicle, waiting impatiently for them to return. As soon as they began to approach, he trotted right towards them, grabbing the goods and hurrying them back to the truck bed. "Didn't run into trouble?" he asked them.

"No, Daryl," Layla said melodically. "Unless you call gossip trouble."

His eyes narrowed at the pair of them. "Who you gossipin' about?"

"You, of course," Layla told him with a smile, only deepening his uncommitted scowl.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

They could hear the rabid snarls and frightened shouts from far up the road. Then, they saw it. The fence on the east side of the prison was coming down, pushed towards the ground by the combined weight of several dozen walkers. From the pathway between the fences, Rick and the rest of the prison gang were trying desperately to kill walkers and prop the fence up with several thick planks simultaneously. But with a crowd like this, they weren't going to succeed.

Layla had jumped out of the truck before it even came to a stop, wielding her machete diligently as she sprinted towards the encroaching herd.

"Layla!" Daryl shouted uselessly, slamming on the breaks. But she either didn't hear him, or had chosen to ignore him entirely. Two walkers had noticed Daryl's hoarse scream, and Layla cut them down like Christmas trees.

Daryl popped out of the car like a Jack-in-the-box, hurdling himself towards her as fast as he could. Three undead charmers were cornering her against the fence, reaching towards her with grimy claws. "Layla, no!" he shouted desperately, and at the break of his voice Layla brought down her knife against the first walker's skull, kicked the next closest back, then spun around and brought down the third. When the second staggered back towards her, she decapitated it, swiftly and without hesitation.

Daryl and Michonne were already out of the truck and backing her up, taking out geeks two or three at a time as they fought their way towards her. They trio tore through the herd at an alarming rate, producing a steadily growing pile of decaying corpses as they went. When the last undead arm had dropped to the ground, Layla collapsed along with it. Michonne and Daryl plopped down beside her, utterly exhausted and covered in walker guts.

Eventually, Daryl hoisted himself up and pulled Layla along with him, irrationally unwilling to have her more than an arm's length away. He pulled her behind him as they walked back across the prison yard. The rest of the group was leading the way, and abruptly, Daryl held Layla back.

"The hell were you thinkin'?" he growled, towering over her.

"I was thinking the fence was about to come down," she said simply, ignoring his tone of voice.

"The fuck, Layla! Ya can't go runnin' into a group of walkers like that! Ain't no one takin' down that many walkers by themselves and livin' to tell the tale!"

Layla fought her smile, "I know that. But I knew you'd be right behind me." She spoke to him in a kind, calm voice. "Michonne, too."

"But..."

"I knew you'd be there. I trust you, Daryl. But you've got to trust me too."

He watched her face for a moment, searching for the lie, but then conceded with a sigh. "Ya look like shit," he commented, eying her blood-spattered clothes.

"Wow, Daryl. You sure know how to woo the ladies," Layla replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"S'not what I meant," he mumbled, pink rising to his cheeks. "But we ain't got the showers workin' yet. Ain't good to have so much of their blood on ya..." he reached out shyly and traced the line where her tank top met the skin at her shoulder. "I know a stream 'bout a mile from here. We could go there, get cleaned up?"

"Okay. That sounds great, actually," Layla said, grinning. Daryl really was cute when he was nervous.

Carol had been hanging back, walking in pace with the couple behind her. She'd known this new girl would be trouble from the moment she'd seen her. All wide eyes and puppy-dog pouts, manipulating Daryl as if he were some teenager. Daryl didn't belong with a girl like that. Some _whore_, playing the victim and making everyone feel sorry for her.

And the way he'd gone sprinting after her when she got out of the car to fight, it made Carol sick to her stomach. Daryl had never protected _her_ with that much ferocity. And now here he was, asking her out on some kind of date. The stupid bitch. Daryl was not for _her_.

"Hey, Carol, tell them we'll be back in a couple hours," Daryl called ahead of him, already turning back towards the exit.

"Where are you going?" she asked with a frown, crossing her arms and staring him down.

He gave her an agitated look, "For a walk," he grunted. And without waiting for her reply, he dragged Layla towards the fence and out into the forest.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"Turn around," Layla ordered expectantly when they reached the edge of the stream. Daryl's choice in locale had been no accident. The setting was perfect: peaceful, secluded, romantic even. The stream pooled into a relatively shallow lake, headed by a gurgling waterfall that stood about twelve feet tall. It was beautiful, really.

Daryl looked at her blankly. "I'm going to get undressed. Not much point in bathing if I can't get any of my dirty bits, is there?" Layla said playfully, blushing at her use of the phrase 'dirty bits.' She never talked like this on purpose, and certainly not in male company.

"Oh," Daryl said dumbly, still blatantly staring at her. She reached out and pinched him, making him jump in surprise.

"Any day now?" she said, smiling at him. He turned around and listened attentively. He heard her pull her shirt over her head, grunting slightly as the stitches on her back pulled and puckered, then drop the soiled cloth into the dirt. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she bent down to remove her shorts.

"Shit," he heard from behind him, and very nearly spun right around to check on her.

"You okay?" he called worriedly.

"Yeah, it's just, I can't swim. Not with," Layla sighed, "my back."

"Oh," Daryl replied dumbly. And thoughtlessly he went to face her, surprising them both when he found her mostly undressed.

His eyes went straight to the ground. "Shit, sorry, I..." he began to apologize, and then set out on unbuttoning his sleeveless flannel.

"Daryl, what are you doing?" Layla asked him slowly. His eyes shot back up to hers when he realized that hint of hesitance in her voice was _fear_.

_You're such a fucking dumbass_.

"Christ, Layla, I didn't mean. I wasn't gonna-"

He near-ripped the shirt from his body and handed it to her, still careful to keep his back to her, but more concerned at the moment with scaring her off. "S'cleaner than anything you've got on. You can use it to clean yourself off. So you don't gotta get in the water."

His stomach churned painfully for the suspended moment that he held out the offered garment for her, and she watched him cautiously. But half a second later, she accepted the shirt, giving him a small nod of understanding.

She walked into the water until it wisped against her hips, then slowly began to wipe the blood and grime from her sun-kissed body. Daryl knew he should get on with cleaning himself off as well, but nagging words were piling in the back of his throat, and he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until they'd been cleared.

"Layla," Daryl called softly, and she looked over her shoulder at him. "Ya know I wouldn't...ya know I'd never...do _that_ to ya, right? Ain't gonna do something you don't want. Don't want ya worryin' about that from me."

Layla smiled gently at him. "I'm not worried. You just caught me off guard, is all." She turned away from him again, using the shirt that had so recently been resting against his sweaty skin to clear off her own. "Guess it was just those abs of yours, distracting me."

Daryl blushed wildly, realizing all at once just how much of his skin was on display.

_She didn't mean that the way it sounded. It was just a joke._

After taking a moment to compose himself, Daryl skimmed out of his jeans and dove straight into the water, clad only in his boxers. When he surfaced a few yards away, Layla was openly watching him.

"What happened to no peekin'?" he carped.

"You got to see mine. It's only fair," Layla countered.

"Wasn't on purpose!"

"Sure," Layla retorted, her smile betraying the tease. When she'd finished washing off, Layla waded over to the edge of the water, and stood uncertainly at the shore.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, swimming over to meet her. At this point, he didn't even try to hide the way he was watching her. She'd seen right through that rouse anyways.

Layla crossed her arms shyly, "Didn't bring anything to change into. Forgot I have clothes of my own now."

"Mmm, and ya shouldn't put back on any of those bloody clothes neither. Just wear the shirt I gave ya. S'long enough to cover ya up while we get inside."

"Why shouldn't I put on the bloody ones?"

"It just...ain't a good look for ya, s'all," Daryl said to the ground, but Layla smiled at him nonetheless. _He doesn't like to see me hurt. He worries about me. Why?_

"Okay, your shirt it is then," Layla agreed, pulling on the damp sleeveless flannel. She watched as Daryl swiftly slipped back into his jeans and boots. Droplets of cool water still clung to his chest, streaking south as if to avoid being scorched by the Georgian sun. _Well this is new,_ she thought to herself,_ openly watching some half-naked man get dressed. Hardly feeling self-conscious at all when I catch him watching me. Definitely new._

But then Daryl shrugged into that very tattered shirt he'd so adamantly refused to let _her _wear.

"Yuck, why don't you just leave it here? Won't be able to get the blood off anyways," Layla commented, but cut herself off as soon as she saw the look on Daryl's face. Discomfort and embarrassment didn't begin to encapsulate it, so Layla made the active choice not to push him on the topic. "Though red _is_ a nice color on you," she added boldly, and grinned when he tried to hide his blush.

They walked back towards the prison in amicable silence. Daryl noticed the way she always turned her face towards the sun, seeking it out like water to a man dying of thirst.

"No windows," Daryl said aloud, but Layla understood what he meant.

"I missed the sun. It was the only thing I found myself really craving, while I was there. Always did love being outside."

"Yeah, can't say I was too thrilled we ended up where we did. S'good that it's safe, and all, but I can't stay in those walls too long."

"You grew up outside." It wasn't a question.

"For the most part," Daryl confirmed, "Bein' out here was always easier."

"Is that why you don't like people?"

Daryl didn't stop completely, but his gait slowed as he stared at her incredulously. "Who says I don't like people?"

"Michonne. Well, that wasn't exactly what she said."

"What'd she fuckin' say, then?" Daryl immediately questioned, sounding put off.

"She said that you don't let people...close." Daryl stayed quiet, unable to compose a quick retort that would disprove Michonne's observations. "Though obviously there are some exceptions."

"Like what?" He was genuinely curious.

"Like me."

_That_ caught him off guard. He swallowed hard before looking firmly at the ground and admitting, "I was never too good with people."

"You're good with me."

He looked up at her, staring as if he thought he could decipher all the truths from behind her eyes.

"You _are_," the woman insisted, grabbing him loosely by the wrist and forcing him to stop in his tracks.

"Layla, what-?"

"I want to do something. And I want you to know before I do it that it's not just because of what happened to me, or what's happened since. Are you going to let me?"

"We talkin' 'bout somethin' dangerous?"

"It could be."

Daryl nodded thoughtfully. "Is it somethin' you really want?" he asked her.

She smiled brightly, "More than anything I've wanted in a while."

"Well, you deserve a 'lil somethin' good, I figure. So whatever it is, we can-"

Layla cut him off with a kiss.

It was obvious enough he wasn't expecting it, with the way he all but froze against her at the first contact. But when Layla reached up and pressed both palms against his biceps, stroking tenderly, Daryl's lips finally began to move with hers. They didn't kiss for long. They didn't throw each other down into the dirt and moan into the wind. But when Layla felt Daryl tentatively cup her cheek, she knew the risk had been worth taking.

Layla broke away first, still standing as close to Daryl as possible and looking up at him uncertainly. Daryl's heart was racing, pumping red-hot arousal through his system like ice creeping in on the shore. She'd kissed _him_, so now he couldn't exactly feel guilty about it. And of all the things he'd thought she meant...this girl was just a bag of surprises.

He barked out a laugh, then stifled it, before saying, "That's not what I thought you meant."

"I got that," Layla told him with a smile. "Are you mad?"

"Christ, no. A pretty girl wants to kiss me? I ain't gonna argue none," Daryl said too fast, and instantly reddened when he let the words slip.

"So you think I'm pretty, huh?" Layla teased.

Daryl bit steadily at his lip. "Might," he grunted with a cringe. "That really what you were wantin'?"

"Really, really. And fair warning, there's a good chance I'll be wanting it again."

"I was that good, huh?" Daryl said as they began to walk back to the prison.

Layla smacked him in the gut. "Cocky."

"Hey, it ain't every day a guy gets kissed by a girl like you. Gotta savor it."

"And what kind of girls _have _you been kissing, Daryl Dixon?"

He snorted, "Don't you worry. Ain't been kissed in a good long while. Didn't fuck it up too bad, did I?"

"Nah, you passed with flying colors," Layla promised with a laugh.

"S'good," Daryl said as they reached the prison gates, "Gotta take notes for next time."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

They looked quite the pair, walking back into the prison in clothes that were soaking wet and still tinged with blood. Carol watched them from the guard tower, hands tightening around her rifle when she noted that neither was wearing the clothing they'd left in. She had little time to seethe before Daryl and Layla had disappeared inside.

"Hershel says ya gotta change the dressings," Daryl announced, finding Layla pacing his cell. The rest of the group, newcomers and all, were dispersed throughout the prison, acclimating to their new jobs. And it didn't surprise Daryl at all that Layla had managed to find the least populated spot in the whole damn place to wait for his return. Once he'd been forced to pick out a cell of his own, he'd nabbed the one farthest from the others. And hardly to his surprise, it had remained relatively isolated, even after their group had grown.

"Great," Layla carped sardonically.

Daryl moved into the doorway, holding gauze and ointment. Layla turned to face him, and even though she tried to hide it by immediately looking to the floor, he saw the flash of panic. He recognized his mistake, and moved out of the doorway to sit on the bed, reopening her exit route. She visibly relaxed then, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Didn't think you'd wanna find Hershel to do it," Daryl said softly. "Ya didn't seem too happy 'bout it last time. I could uh…get Michonne? One of the girls?"

Layla closed the privacy curtain and went to sit down beside him. She wrung her hands together, staring into her lap. "I'd really rather they didn't…see. I'd rather no one did, to be honest."

"Ya got nothin' to hide," Daryl immediately said, and green eyes darted up to meet him. She gifted him a soft smile.

"Maybe, you could? If you don't mind…" she asked hesitantly.

"'Course, if that's what you want."

Layla scooted closer to him on the bed, then slowly turned so her back was towards him. She took her time unbuttoning his flannel, then shrugged it off, letting it pool on the floor.

A thought occurred to him, and he grimaced before forcing himself to open his mouth, "I uh…gotta unhook your bra. To get at the bandages. I ain't gonna pull anything, Layla, I swear! S'just in the way, and if I wanna—"

"_Daryl_," she interrupted him, and he breathed out a sigh of relief when her tone was far from upset, or frightened. "It's fine. I trust you, okay? Just do what you need to do."

He nodded to himself, and easily unhooked her bra, waiting for her to slip it off her shoulders and deposit it to the floor with the rest of her clothing. She brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them loosely.

"Okay," she murmured, "Let's just get it over with."

Daryl allowed himself the small pleasure of gathering her hair in hand and pushing it over a single shoulder. Layla shivered pleasantly when his fingers barely grazed the side of her neck, momentarily forgetting herself. But then there was the sound of a gauze packet being ripped open, and she couldn't stop her heart from picking up pace.

Daryl watched her shudder with every outward breath, shoulders squared off the way his had always been before getting the belt. He cursed himself for having no goddamn idea what to say to make this any easier.

Instead, Daryl steadied his own breathing and reached for the first bandage. His fingertips made contact with her back, and Layla instinctually recoiled, gasping audibly and curling into herself.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she quickly whispered, turning to look at him. But Daryl was shaking his head, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"No, it's my fault. I shoulda—"

"It isn't your fault, it's mine. God, it was bad enough with Rick and Hershel there, but at least I held it together. I didn't want them to see me… like this, I guess. I can do it. I _can_, it's just…"

"Tell me what to do," Daryl softly pleaded. "Tell me what you need me to do. Anything, Layla."

"Anything?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him with a small twinkle in her eye.

He huffed out a laugh, "Call me a pussy, but yeah. Whatever ya need."

Layla bit her lip contemplatively for a beat, before asking, "Maybe you could keep talking, during? Maybe if I can hear that it's you, it'll be easier."

"I can do that," Daryl said with determination, "Are you, uh, ready?"

"Yeah," she breathed, turning her back to him again.

"What do ya want me to talk about?" he asked, peeling back the first of the bandages.

"Doesn't matter," she said with a shiver. "Anything. The people here. Your brother. The weather."

"I was never too good with small talk," Daryl mumbled.

"Doesn't have to be small, then. Anything. I just need you to—"

"Yeah, I know. I get it, really Layla," he paused for a moment, "You really wanna hear about my brother?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she countered, sincerity shining from her innocent tone.

"I guess I haven't talked about him much. Even after he…" Daryl sighed, "Not that many people liked Merle, especially the people here. They're family, and so was he, but they didn't get why I always fought for him. Why I wanted him around so badly."

"Did you try to explain it to them?"

"Never got the chance. Governor told Rick he could either give up Michonne, or he'd kill all of us and take the prison. Rick went to Merle and told him what was what. And Merle took off with Michonne before Rick got the chance to come to his senses.

"And Merle let her go?"

"Yeah. He didn't think for one second that the Governor was tellin' the truth, and I didn't neither. But Merle went and tried to take the Governor out himself, and ya know how that story ended." Daryl balled up the soiled bandages. "I gotta clean out the cuts a bit. Y'alright with that?"

"Mmhmm," Layla responded idly, and Daryl wet his rag with water from his canteen, dabbing carefully at her back. "Do you blame Rick?"

She heard Daryl let out a ragged sigh. "Sometimes. More often I blame Merle, and that ain't any easier."

"What do you mean?"

"He knew it was suicide, doin' what he did."

"But it sounds like he was trying to protect everyone. You."

"Probably. But that still don't change that he left me. Again."

"Again?"

"Back at the beginning of all this, Merle was in the group with us. He went on a run to Atlanta. Got high. Violent. Rick cuffed him to a pipe on a roof, and when another one of our group dropped the key, Merle got left behind. They went back with me the next day to go get him, but when we got there all that was left was his hand, and a bloody saw. Thing was, he knew damn well where the camp was. Where _I _was. But he didn't come back. Just left me with a bunch of strangers."

"They're not strangers anymore."

"No. Guess not."

"But that doesn't sound like the whole story."

Daryl smirked at the back of her neck. "You're too damn observant for your own good."

"And you're avoiding the topic, so I'll just go ahead and say you don't have to tell me anything. We can always talk about the weather."

"No it's…it's good. Haven't gotten to talk about him, since…The others, they don't wanna hear. And I can't really blame them. He was a racist asshole, my brother. I ain't got any delusions 'bout that. But 'til all this started, he was my whole fuckin' world." Daryl's breath hitched, and Layla reached a hand back to rest on his knee. He tentatively rested his palm over hers, squeezing once. "S'alright, I'm fine," he muttered roughly.

"You're allowed not to be." Layla looked over her shoulder at him again. That same knowing look. And for the first time in Daryl's life, it was a true, brutal fight to stop from kissing the woman in front of him.

"So are you," he murmured. "The thing 'bout Merle was, he cared about me, but he lied to himself. A lot. He took off when I was eight, didn't come back 'til I was near eighteen. Figured I'd be fine without him."

"He just left? Why?"

"'Cuz of our dad," Daryl mumbled. "Gonna put on that ointment, now. S'gonna sting."

"I can take it," she replied with a small smile.

"S'gonna heal up just fine," Daryl told her as he worked, "Betcha a lot of 'em won't even scar none."

"Now you're just lying to me."

"Nah, trust me. I know a thing or two about it. Ain't as bad as ya think. I'm almost finished up."

"That so? I figured you'd try to draw out how long you get to have me topless in front of you," Layla said teasingly.

Abruptly, the curtain was thrown back, and Carol strode right into the cell. "Dinner's in fifteen," she announced, ignoring Layla's mortified expression as she struggled to find something to cover her back.

Instead, Daryl quickly slid between them, blocking Layla from view. "Out, Carol" he growled, towering over her.

She rolled her eyes, the picture of nonchalance. "_Fine,_" she sneered, turning and leaving the room.

He looked back down at Layla, who was clearly fighting back tears. "Stay here," he barked, before charging out of the cell.

He stormed down the empty hallway. "Carol, hold up!" he hollered.

She stopped, and turned back towards him, seeming fairly surprised to find him scowling at her.

"What the fuck was that?" he snarled once he'd closed the distance between them. "What the fuck were you thinking, barging in like that?"

"How was I supposed to know she'd be naked?" Carol snarked, and shuffled back a step when Daryl's eyes went narrow and dangerous.

"Don't you fuckin' lie, Carol. Those curtains ain't soundproof. I know you woulda heard us talkin' bout it. Show the woman some goddamn respect. She spent the last few weeks of her life bein' tortured by the asshole who murdered my brother."

"So she says."

Daryl glowered at her, "You saw her back. Ain't like she invited ya to, but ya saw it anyways. You sayin' she did that to herself? I know you ain't that stupid."

"I don't see why you're so upset about it," Carol calmly replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If you don't think I'd know somethin' 'bout wanting to hide scars, then you don't know me at all," Daryl hissed, lowering his voice abruptly. "Thought you and me understood each other. _Jesus_."

He paced in front of her, trying to collect himself.

"Daryl…"

"You owe that girl an apology," he said firmly, cutting her off. "And you best steer clear of me 'til ya make it right."

With that, Daryl b-lined right back to his cell, roughly pulling the curtain back into place. Layla remained curled up on his bed, knees to her chest and sniffling quietly. She'd placed her back to the opposite wall, now. Undoubtedly to prevent another group member from catching an eyeful. She jumped noticeably when he burst back in.

Daryl stopped hesitantly in front of the bunk. "Layla…" he murmured.

"I'm fine," she said far too quickly, voice thick. "I'm fine."

He crouched down in front of her, seeking out her eyes. "Ya don't gotta be," he told her, repeating her words from before.

That got her attention. She nodded slowly, peeking out at him from under her lashes. "What did you mean when you said you know about hiding scars?"

"You heard that, huh?" he said lowly, no life to his voice. She bit her lip and unwrapped one arm from her body to pull gently at his arm, urging him to sit with her. And despite his surprise, Daryl didn't hesitate to slide in next to her, taking the spot between her and the wall.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Layla pushed herself into his lap, pulling his legs apart for her to slot comfortably inside. Still wrapped into a ball, she leaned on her side against Daryl's chest. And Daryl might have been borderline alarmed by her sudden desire to touch him, if not for the way her body relaxed completely once safely in his arms.

She breathed in the musk of his shirt, deep and slow. Smoke and wood and leather. "Sorry I jumped you," she mumbled, "It was just- I just needed-"

"Shit, Layla, ya don't gotta apologize. Ain't like I don't wanna be here."

"You do?" she asked quietly, voice lower than a whisper.

And Daryl nearly laughed aloud at that, because to him, it was obvious. He'd never so much as hugged any of the other women in the group. But here he was with Layla half-naked in his lap, and it was the most comfortable he'd been since all this started. "'Course, Layla."

"Can't help thinking you just feel sorry for me."

"That's not it. Ya gotta know that," Daryl told her. Only then did it occur to him that no, she _didn't_ know, because he hadn't told her. "I shoulda had a hard time believin' ya, when ya told me that Merle was the one that saved you. Merle never cozied up to people too easy, and I ain't never seen him go out of his way to help someone that wasn't me. But there's somethin' about ya, Layla. Guess he saw it too. Christ, I can't explain it right…"

"You're doing just fine," Layla replied softly, and he let himself rest one hand on the back of her neck, holding her against him. They sat like that for some time, until Layla murmured lowly, "Guess you really don't want to tell me about what happened with Carol."

"Ain't gonna let it drop, are ya?"

"I do have a history of being quite stubborn."

"Don't gotta tell me that," he said with a small chuckle. He sucked in a steadying breath. "S'like I was sayin' before. Merle left 'cuz of my Dad. And my Dad, he liked to drink. You can fill in the blanks."

It came out in a jumbled rush, and Layla felt the way Daryl's muscles went rigid in the aftermath, as if he were expecting something terrible. She lifted her head, and saw that he was staring into the corner of the cell, frowning at some ghost of his past. So Layla leaned up towards him, ever so slightly, and pressed a lingering kiss to the long column of skin at his neck. He shivered underneath her, and the hand at her neck twitched with the desire to do much more than he'd allow himself at the moment.

Instead, Daryl pressed a brief kiss to the side of her head, and murmured, "How 'bout ya let me finish takin' care of your back?"

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"We really can't sleep outside tonight?" Layla asked once more, after dinner.

"Storm's comin' in," Daryl replied, "And anyways, we've got four walls and a roof. Ought to put them to use."

Layla sighed. "Okay. Then where am I sleeping?"

Daryl stood in the hall outside of his cell, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. "I was thinkin' this one," he mumbled, nodding his head towards the cell adjacent to his.

"There's no one in it already?"

"Nah, I'm the only one on this half of the block. Guess no one had the balls to be my neighbor," he said with feigned indifference, anxious for her reply. "That sound alright to you?"

"Better than alright," she immediately responded, flashing him a quick smile.

He let out a breath he'd never admit to have been holding. "Good. Already put some blankets and pillows in there, just in case. And your pack."

Layla's smile only got wider. "You were hoping I would pick that one, weren't you?"

"_No,_" he scoffed. "It was just the easiest place to throw everything."

"Sure it was," Layla said sardonically. "Sorry to be such a _burden_."

Daryl might have been worried, if not for the clear warmth in her voice, shining through despite her attempts at sarcasm.

"I guess I'll just get out of your hair," Layla murmured, turning towards her cell. But before he'd had time to think it through, Daryl's hand shot out to grasp her loosely by the wrist, stopping her.

She turned back towards him, looking confused more than anything. And Daryl's breath caught in his throat for perhaps the millionth time since he'd met her.

Daryl's eyes bore into hers, searching. His heart was rocketing away in his chest, leaving his body vibrating to the point where he thought he might just dissolve. But the feel of Layla's soft skin against his calloused fingers grounded him. She watched him without any fear in her eyes, or judgment.

And after a long moment of trepidation, Daryl leaned towards her, cocking his head just slightly to the side, and Layla met him in a slow kiss. She leaned her weight against his strong frame, letting Daryl be all the support she needed, and felt his hand migrate north to gently cup her cheek.

When he felt the warm, wet caress of her tongue tracing his lip, Daryl was done for. His other hand tangled into her hair, while their tongues danced together. And just when he couldn't stop thinking that Layla was about the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, she bit gently at his lower lip. He couldn't help but groan into her mouth, breath stuttering along with his heart.

He pulled away from her all at once, praying she hadn't felt just how hard he was from something as insignificant as a kiss.

But it wasn't insignificant, really. Not to him.

"Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry," he panted. "I shouldn't have—fuck, Layla I didn't mean to. I swear, I'm not like that, I—"

"_Daryl,_" she said, voice low and dripping gold. "I _like it_ when you kiss me."

And that stopped him, alright. He finally looked up to meet those emerald eyes of hers, sure they'd be brimming with tears at his betrayal. But she was smiling at him again, that slow, soft quirk of the lips that he'd begun to find himself craving. But there was still that dread in the pit of his gut, voices of his dad and his brother mingling in an amelodic symphony of guilt and ridicule.

"Ain't gonna push ya, Layla. Not for that. I don't want you to think—"

"I don't think that. I don't," she said with conviction, and he nodded quickly, biting at his lower lip.

"S'just, I don't want ya thinkin' that's all I want from you."

"What if I want it too?" she quickly countered, cutting him off.

Daryl gaped at her. "I just…I just thought with the Governor, and…"

"You thought I was too fucked up to want you? Or too fucked up to be with _anyone_, now?" she hissed. He watched the light in her eyes turn vivid and sharp.

_Shit, this was not going well._

"_No,_ Layla. I thought you'd need more time! I just met ya, and after everything he did, I figured if I went after ya like that you'd be likely to take my nuts off or somethin'!"

Despite her greatest efforts, Layla's angry façade crumbled, and was replaced with a thin smile. The man in front of her was an absolute mess, but an endearing mess at that. And when all of this grief was being spurred by his worry for her…well, she could hardly stay mad at him for that.

"Daryl, I don't need you to tell me what I'm ready for. I kissed you first, remember? And I didn't regret it one bit. So stop…_thinking_, so much." She took a step closer to him, trapping Daryl between herself and the concrete wall. "Now, I'm going to kiss you again. Try not to throw a hissy fit this time."

"Hey, I didn't—!" he began to protest. She cut him off with her lips. Then, her tongue.

In no time at all, he could hardly remember his own name.


End file.
